


when you give that look to me

by littlelocaldreamer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24507022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelocaldreamer/pseuds/littlelocaldreamer
Summary: The tension’s been building for years.
Relationships: Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews
Comments: 7
Kudos: 118





	when you give that look to me

**Author's Note:**

> title from neon trees “sleeping with a friend”—this was exclusively inspired by that song

It happens during a fierce, thundering storm on a Sunday morning. 

The tension’s been building for weeks, months, _years—_

Jonny hides his face in Patrick’s neck, embarrassed by how overwhelmed he already is. It’s dark in the bedroom. He wishes he could see Patrick better but he’s too afraid to turn on a light; scared he’ll ruin the moment. 

“Fuck—right there—“

Jonny grunts, shifting Patrick’s middle somewhat clumsily with one hand while his other increases in rhythm. He may have drunkenly fooled around with Osh one too many times back in college but he’s never fingered another man. 

Yet another first he shares with Patrick. 

“Yeah,” he says, nonsensically, “take ‘em so good—“

His fingers squelch. He used way too much lube. But it’s warm and wet inside Patrick, the slide so slick. He’s tighter than any woman Jonny’s ever slept with. 

He thinks about getting his cock in there, how relentless and satisfying the squeeze would be, like the filthiest, most intimate caress. Jonny’s already intoxicated by the heat of Patrick’s body alone—the thought of being held by it in _that_ way is almost unbearable. 

“God, Pat...”

Patrick whines, voice higher than Jonny’s ever heard, as Jonny gently nudges his digits further, grazing what must be the secret swollen gland he’d barely glazed over in a health class textbook. 

“That’s it, shit—right there,” Patrick pleads, tension bleeding out of his body, leaving him an oozing mess in Jonny’s arms. He drops his head to Jonny’s shoulder, breath ragged and short. Jonny leans into his chest, presses the tip of his nose there and takes a deep inhale of his scent. He nearly gasps at how good Patrick smells—like soft earth on a cool spring morning, soothing and refreshed. 

“Yeah,” Jonny says again, words failing him. 

Patrick clings to him and all Jonny wants is to never let go. 

It’s shocking. How vulnerable he feels. They haven’t been at this very long at all. But the emotions they’ve both kept so expertly dormant—well. 

It was inevitable they finally boiled over. 

He spares a second to be angry with himself for so much lost time. Then Patrick whispers his name and he lets it go. 

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he instructs, lowering his voice, commanding authority. 

Patrick complies immediately, rocking back and forth with more force. Jonny hides his smile against a pert, bubblegum pink nipple. Patrick’s so good. Jonny knows he needs structure; needs to be told what to do. He thrives with applied direction. 

For a moment Jonny wonders how submissive he is, if at all. 

He wonders if he pushes how far Patrick will go. 

Despite his reputation as Chicago’s classiest, most responsible bachelor—Jonny isn’t a prude. He’s gone down on men in public restrooms, had multiple threesomes with women, even fucked a high school principal while her husband watched from the armchair in the corner. He’d even go as far as to consider himself adventurous—

But he’s never fucked another man. 

When he got to the NHL it became too risky to exchange anything beyond frantic and sloppy handjobs or quick and quiet oral. The buildup and preparation for the act alone was enough to send his overthinking brain into a spiral. He never met a guy who’d trust him enough to enter his body that way—much less met anyone he’d allow to do it to _him_.

Patrick, as always, changed the game.

When Jonny found out they were going to be Hawks together he marked himself down as well and truly fucked. He’d been watching him play for years at that point. And some could say he had a soft spot for short, brilliant right-wingers. 

They fought most of the entire first season, passionate and intense, and didn’t really get it together as friends until right before their first cup win. 

Jonathan remembers the celebration that night- drenched in champagne, reeking of sweat and dirty gear. He remembers watching Patrick lift the lilac skirt of a pretty little brunette in the corner of whatever club they ended up in; fingering her right up against the wall while Sharpy and Duncs pretended not to watch with hooded eyes from their booth. 

Jonny, on the other hand, blatantly stared—watched how Patrick’s pink, wet mouth opened in a moan against her neck as she grabbed the back of his head, lifting a slim leg to wrap around his thigh. 

Jonny bit down on his bottom lip, cock thick and heavy beneath the table. 

“Gonna do a lap,” he told the boys, wandering off determined and half aroused.

He ended up scoring big; went home to bed with a cute blonde and her best friend—laid cozy and comfortable right in between them as they showered him in dirty affection.

When he came he thought of Patrick’s mouth. 

In the weeks that followed he tried his best to put the memory out of his head but just...couldn’t. Not even after he picked up yoga and meditation back in Winnipeg.

When the season started up again he made a promise to himself to end whatever infatuation he developed for Patrick. 

But seeing him nearly every single day at practices and games, living together on the road, being consistently linked in some weird, flirtatious media relationship—

It didn’t work. Jonny slipped up and started to fall.

It wasn’t long before he wanted things he’d never wanted before.

So no, while Jonny may not be a prude, he can admit he’s a bit of a traditionalist. Sex is significant to him. He won’t take a new step in intimacy with just anyone.

“Jonny,” Patrick gasps, hips stuttering, “I need more—“

Jonny shushes his hushed moan with a kiss—plush lips all pliant and slow. “Calm down, baby.”

The endearment slips from his tongue before he can think to stop it. Patrick doesn’t comment, just squirms around all needy and frantic. Jonny presses a thumb down on his hip bone.

“Be still.”

Their bodies are already flushed head to toe; the darkest shade of red sitting at the very tip of Patrick’s glistening cock.

Patrick follows Jonny’s gaze, taking himself in a loose grasp and sounding drugged when he says, “Didn’t know I could.”

Jonny’s trance can’t be broken, jaw slack. He watches as Patrick gingerly touches himself, playing with the head—and suddenly curious—decides to crooks his fingers, just a little.

_”Oh.”_

Patrick shudders, curling in on himself as his cock leaks just a small amount more. 

Spit floods Jonny’s mouth and he replies, delayed and cloudy, “Could what?” 

One of Patrick’s hands comes up to caress the side of his face, sliding under his chin and lifting his gaze from between his thighs. 

Patrick’s eyes are filled with mischief, his pupils huge, as he says with a small smirk, “Get this wet.”

Jonny’s mouth drops open again and he arches his hips, causing his big cock to drag against one of Patrick’s firm, warm cheeks. Patrick’s own cock twitches in response against his stomach. 

“Dirty,” Jonny whispers, biting down hard on Patrick’s neck, shuddering at the whimper it elicits. 

“Yeah—Jonny—“

Patrick pushes a couple of fingers in Jonny’s mouth, grin sleazy with his tongue poking out as he grinds down again. Jonny latches on immediately, eager to please. They don’t break eye contact and it feels like so much—the intensity in Patrick’s eyes threatening to drown him. 

But he holds Patrick’s gaze, sucking his fingers strong and sure while his own move back and forth carefully along the hottest, most silk-like tunnel. 

“You feel so good,” Patrick breathes, so soft Jonny almost misses it.

He strains forward. They need to be closer. 

Jonny shifts back, deliberate, so not to jostle Patrick too much, and settles more comfortably against the headboard. He slides his knees up, making a cozy nest out of his lap for Patrick to settle in. 

The motion aligns the top half of their chests completely and Jonny feels the anxious flutter settle in his chest. He always wants Patrick close. 

He uses his tongue to gently ease Patrick’s fingers out of his mouth, watching as a thin line of saliva forms then breaks as Patrick takes them away. 

“Want you to do me sometime,” Jonny says, breathless, angling his fingers directly on Patrick’s prostate and speeding up his thrusts once he’s sure to hit it every other stroke. 

Patrick’s hands clamp down his shoulders, bitten-down nails digging into the meat of them as he nods, “Yeah. Fuck— baby, okay-“

He sounds like he’s gonna cry, so out of it as Jonny takes his swollen cock in his big hand and begins stroking it as fast as he can. His hands may not be world-renowned like Patrick’s, but he didn’t get to elite level professional hockey without insane coordination. 

The stimulation from both sides has Patrick trembling in his arms within seconds. He has his eyes squeezed shut as he wraps himself around Jonny like an octopus holding on for dear life. He’ll probably leave bruises behind. 

Jonny likes the idea of that. 

“Gonna come, Peeks? Gonna show me?” He asks, licking at the salty skin underneath Patrick’s jaw.

Patrick moans, broken and quiet, digging his nails into the back of Jonny’s skull and dragging them down to the top of his back. “Yes. I wana come—please.”

Jonny didn’t even have to ask him to beg. What a good boy. He should’ve known. 

“I got you.”

Jonny kisses him everywhere he can reach; his lips, his cheeks, his neck—full of desperate adoration. He wants this to be good for Patrick. A hot, sexy thought he gets off to in the future when they’re apart—when he’s alone. Although if it were up to Jonny, they’d never be separated again—

He won’t go down that path right now. He nibbles at Patrick’s ear, curling his fingers every few thrusts. Patrick’s thighs quiver and it’s shiny wet where his cock slides against Jonny’s skin. 

Jonny’s own cock painfully throbs but he won’t come until Patrick does. 

“Let go, Peeks. Give it to me.”

Patrick’s hips flex and his ass clenches down snug around Jonny’s fingers. Jonny’s brain flares out at the thought of that tight clutch around his cock—hot and pink and perfect all around him. 

He groans as Patrick cries out and comes between them in thick ropes, getting Jonny’s fingers and navel even more sticky and shimmery. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—“ Patrick chants, curling in on himself and shaking from sensitivity. It’s so fucking hot. Jonny can’t think. 

“That’s it...”

He notices that Patrick’s coming a lot—more than is probably normal, and he can’t stop himself from blurting, “Did you save it just for me, baby?”

Their eyes meet, Patrick shivering from nerves and red in the face, Jonny thrusting his hips against his backside like he used to do in secret back at Shattuck St. Mary’s—firm mattress providing the most delicious slide of friction for his aching morning wood. 

“Yeah,” Patrick pants, soft, bringing his own hand down to grip his still swelled cock and allowing Jonny to grab his ass more firmly. 

The angle change is immediate, Jonny’s cock nestling comfortably right in the crease, making his eyes roll and toes curl. 

“Right there,” he says with a grunt, and Patrick smirks, squeezing down with as much force as he can muster in his lust-weak state. 

“Come on Jonny,” he goads, voice low and dark, “you know you wana mark me up you possessive fuck.”

There’s a hint of laughter in his voice but Jonny doesn’t return it, can’t—not when he knows Patrick’s right. 

“Christ.”

Patrick’s skin will be littered but Jonny doesn’t release him, keeping his hold as secure as he can. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple as Patrick begins meeting him thrust for thrust—like they’re actually fucking instead of just grinding together like a couple of heatsick mates. 

“Do it, Jonny. I want you to come on me.”

There’s something about the tone of Patrick’s voice. He almost sounds—mean. Or leering. Like he’s challenging Jonny to stake his claim. 

If he could, Jonny would drag him away somewhere private, away from the team and Chicago and their families. He’d take him to a secret place—secluded and beautiful. He’d take him there and fuck him for hours—for _days—_ no one around to stop or interrupt them. 

“Pat—“ Jonny whines, cock convulsing at the thought of tying Patrick down and using his hole over and over again; making it a home for round after round of his sloppy release. 

Patrick hugs him again and Jonny thinks it should be gross, how sweaty and warm they both are. But he’s blissfully content, gently tapping his spent cock along Patrick’s inner thigh. 

“Leaving a trace, eh?” Patrick asks, kissing the top of his head. 

Jonny blushes, hiding in Patrick’s neck again. “S’okay?”

Patrick doesn’t answer for a moment, and Jonny briefly, hysterically wonders if this is the end of their friendship. 

But then Patrick murmurs, “It’s okay.” And Jonny closes his eyes in relief. 

Tomorrow they’ll have to sort some shit out, figure what this means for their dynamic. 

Until then Jonny just—

—breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: littlelocaldreamer88


End file.
